Olivia’s mini-suitcase was much easier to handle. I opened it and rummaged around for a sleeper—despite the fact that it was June, the house was still kind of chilly—then fished a bottle and some formula from the diaper bag. It was so much easier and quicker than thawing donor breast milk, especially once Mom assured me that mixing the powder with hot tap water was just as safe as using bottled, filtered stuff. She’d also had to convince me that I wasn’t actively abusing Olivia by letting her drink formula, despite what the parenting message boards said.
I practically skipped up the stairs. Sure, we had Mariposa back home, but I’d still felt a lot of weird pressure being the only parent in the house. Now that Neil was with us again, I panicked less and was more sure of myself. My Pokémon evolution from Child Free to Stand-In Mother hadn’t quite reached its final stage yet, no matter how much smarter I’d gotten with regards to baby care.
Neil had chosen Emma’s former bedroom as Olivia’s nursery. The burnt orange walls matched the color scheme of the entire house, and the crib was sturdy, black, and modern.
“Wow, this is very…coordinated,” I said as I stepped inside. Neil sat in the black enameled rocking chair by the window, Olivia fussing in his arms. To my relief, I noted that soft white wall-to-wall carpeted the floor. I handed him the bottle. “She’s on a bunch of solids now, but she really wants this when she’s sleepy.”
He tucked her into the crook of his arm, and she reached up, grabbing the bottle and his hand and pulling them both toward her mouth.
“She’s gotten so strong,” he mused, his expression as full of wonder as it had been on the day she’d been born. “I can’t believe I’ve missed so much.”
“You’ve got the chance to make it up, now,” I said, as though it were that easy to brush off his sadness at the loss of that time. “Like, while we’re here, for example. You can get up in the night with her.”
He never tore his eyes from her face. “I would love to.”
They needed some alone time to get reacquainted. “I’m going to go get unpacked.”
Rather than try to carry the whole suitcase upstairs, I unzipped it in the foyer and lifted out a stack of clothes; I’d just make several trips until I’d put everything away. I had no idea how long we were staying, and I really didn’t want to live out of my luggage. But I also wasn’t used to climbing long flights of stairs, so I was only half done with the job when I collapsed, fully winded, on the couch in the living room.
Neil came back from the nursery, his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he walked toward me. “I’ve missed that. Holding her while she falls asleep.”
“She missed you, too.” I stretched, every muscle in my body protesting. Even in a private plane with plenty of room to sprawl out, flying destroyed my body. I groaned with relief.
“I suppose now is the time when we talk,” he said, sitting on the couch beside me, not quite touching me. “And I do copious amounts of apologizing.”
Though my first instinct was to tell him not to worry about it, I realized how silly that would be. I couldn’t hold Neil solely responsible for his actions; he was mentally ill, after all, and we both had to accept that if we were going to have any kind of life from this point out. But I also couldn’t give him blanket forgiveness when his actions really had hurt me.
So, I didn’t say anything and waited for him to go on.
He leaned his elbows on his knees and slouched forward, rubbing his face with his hands. They muffled his voice. “Oh, I don’t even know where I would start.”
“How about we start with the coke and the pills and the booze hidden all over the house,” I suggested. “That’s an easy apology. I had to call Valerie for help ferreting all that stuff out.”
He dropped his hands. “Valerie?”
“She’s the only one who really knows your history with this kind of thing. It was easier than trying to explain it fresh to someone else.” I shrugged. “We had to tear the house apart. How long have you been stockpiling all that stuff?”
He couldn’t or wouldn’t look me in the eye. “The alcohol is new. The pills…some of those are new. The cocaine…I’ve been doing that since my mother died. Not daily. Only now and then.”
Over a year ago? My heart plummeted. “But you did so much work with the addiction thing. You were making progress
and everything.”
“Not as much as you and Doctor Harris believed, I’m afraid.” Neil sounded embarrassed, and I guess I would have been, too, if he’d caught me in a lie.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or him? Or anyone? We could have helped you,” I reminded him.
“Because everyone kept telling me how proud they were of me, how well I was doing… I felt as though I would be letting all of you down.” He shook his head. “I’m not suggesting that makes it all right. I know it doesn’t.”
I tentatively reached over and put my hand on his back. It was so difficult to know what kind of contact he would welcome or reject, having been apart for so long. “That’s a lot of pressure. I get that. And I’m sorry if I contributed to it. I was just so excited to see you turning things around. I guess I turned a blind eye a little bit.”
“You didn’t turn a blind eye. I blinded you.” He sighed. “I have done my level best to keep secrets from you, to hide things. And it isn’t because I don’t want you to share my life with me. Please don’t ever think that. Even now, after all this time apart, you’re the person in my life to whom I’m closest.”
“Well, to be honest, Neil…” I felt bad for even saying it, but it had to be said. “I’m not sure how you can feel that way. If you were lying to me all the time, how could you have felt close to me?”
“Because I was only lying about the…addiction.” The word sounded hard for him to say. “I am deeply ashamed of myself. For so many things.”
“How much of you, the you that you were showing me, was really you?” I asked. “Give me a percentage.”